GRASSES 
and grateful to the eye of the traveller. It must have been 
nearly a century ago since these plains were last burnt over 
—not within the memory of the oldest settler in the town- 
ship of Hamilton. Yet deep down, some six or seven feet 
below the surface, the charred remains of oaks are found to 
prove the truth of the Indian name, “The Lake of the 
Burning Plains.” Indian names have always some founda- 
tion; adopted from peculiar circumstances, they have 
acquired a sort of historical value among the people. 
The name of “ Rice Lake” is derived from the fields of 
Wild Rice, Zizania aquatica (L.), which abound in the 
shallower waters of this fine inland sheet of water, and 
give the appearance of low verdant islands clothing its 
waters. When the Rice is ripened and the leaves faded a 
golden tint comes over the aquatic field, and the low Rice 
islands, as they catch the rays of the sun, take the form of 
sands glowing with yellow light. Where the water is low 
these Rice beds increase so as nearly to fill the shallow 
lakes and impede the progress of boats, changing the channel 
and altering the aspect of the waters. 
In the month of June the tender green spikes of the leaves 
begin to appear; in July the Rice begins to push up its 
stiff, upright stalk, sheathed within the folds of which are 
the delicate, fragile flowers; from the slender glumes the 
beautiful straw-colored and purple anthers hang down, 
fluttering in the breeze which stirs the grassy leaves that 
float loosely upon the surface of the water, rising and falling 
with every movement. The plant grows in lakes, ponds, and 
other waters where the current is not very strong, to the 
depth of from three to eight feet or even deeper. The grassy 
or ribbon-like flexible leaves are very long. I remember a 
gentleman who was rowing me across the lake drew up one 
at a chance on his oar and measured it, the length being 
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